


Something Dangerous

by princesskay



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossdressing, M/M, PWP without Porn, Pre-Canon, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 10:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18548035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: Philippe attends Louis' birthday party, in search of something dangerous. There, he meets the Chevalier de Lorraine, who has just returned from abroad, and has his sights set on Monsieur.





	Something Dangerous

It was the King’s birthday. As such, the Palais-Royal was decorated with crystal lights, tapestries of silk, and thousands upon thousands of living flowers. The scent of the prepared feast could be smelt in every room and apartment, all the way to wing reserved for members of the royal family. 

Philippe could nearly imagine the fresh, raw oysters sliding down the back of his throat as he stood before the mirror, addressing his image with criticism. The dress he’d chosen was a burnt orange, embroidered with gold and flecks of green. The mask was that of a fox. 

It was a masquerade ball because it was Louis’ birthday, and Louis always demanded a spectacle. He enjoyed the masked ball particularly because it offered the rare opportunity to chase the skirts of girls without revealing his face, and perhaps imbuing the night with a sense of intrigue. 

Philippe enjoyed a masked ball for the anonymity as well, though for an entirely different reason. 

While their mother had never discouraged his desires to dress effeminately, the rest of the palace could hold their tongues but not their gazes. They thought him a joke. And Louis, the host of the party, was none better. At least with a mask, he could curb even a percentage of the vitriol scarcely hiding itself behind sideways glances from nobles and council members. 

Philippe adjusted his fox mask, and gave his appearance one last perusal before heading for the door. It was ten minutes past six. Always better to be fashionably late. 

The hallways were vacant and silent save for the distant melody of music confined the ballroom. Philippe hastened his pace. There was wine to be had, and he was ready to get suitably drunk in order to pass the long night of supposed merriment. 

As he descended the staircase to the doors of the ballroom, he caught sight of a young man with a mane of blond curls striding flamboyantly down the hall in the same direction. The mask covered almost the entirety of his face, giving Philippe little indication of his identity. Someone with a stride such as that was worthy of remembering, but alas, he could not. 

Philippe paused at top of the last set of stairs leading to the door to watch the blonde nobleman approach the guard at the door. He was granted entrance, giving Philippe a glimpse of the party already in full swing beyond. 

Philippe clutched a hand over his stomach, feeling the ribbed edges of the corset beneath. He suddenly felt lightheaded and wished he hadn’t asked his attendant to tie the laces so tightly. 

“Mademoiselle?” 

Philippe glanced up sharply. 

One of the guards had strayed from his station by the door. “Are you quite all right?” 

“Yes.” Philippe said, managing to keep his tone higher, within acceptable quality of a woman. 

He descended the final set of stairs, and marched toward the door. 

The guard, smiling warmly at him, pulled the door open. 

“Thank you.” Philippe murmured. 

He stepped into the ballroom, and took in the grandeur of the party. Hundreds of masked guests milled around the tables overflowing with food and wine while a full orchestra serenaded the couples swirling across the polished dance floor. Entertainment was provided by performers who breathed fire and juggled and stood on one another’s shoulders. 

Louis emerged from the crowd wearing a gilded gold mask. 

“Philippe.” 

“Brother.” 

Louis looped his arm through Philippe’s, tugging him closer while also pulling him into the crowd. 

“It’s my birthday.” He said, firmly, as if that meant the world should stop on his behalf. “Must you dress like this on  _ my  _ night?” 

“I dress how I like. Besides, Mother approves.” 

“She tolerates.” 

“If it bothers you so, then go on and have your fun. Pretend I’m simply another woman attending your party. One of many.” 

“It takes little imagination.” 

Louis’ arm slipped from Philippe’s, and he disappeared into the crowd. Philippe was left in the midst of the throng, a sea of faces he didn’t recognize. 

He had many friends at court, of course. He was the brother of the king. He was handsome and popular. But he enjoyed dressing like a woman, and that cast a shadow on him, a figure already wreathed in darkness beneath the everlasting light of his elder brother. It often made him wonder if his friends truly liked or loved him. It was even harder to tell when they were all wearing masks. 

“You look lost, mignonette.” 

Philippe paused before turning around. The voice spoke above the dull tenor of crowd, a clear ringing like a bell. Confidence oozed from the endearment, thrown carelessly across the room at a member of royalty. 

When he did turn around, he was little surprised to see it was the blonde nobleman he’d seen strutting into the party who had spoken so unabashedly. 

“I’m not lost.” 

“Well, one should be having fun at a party like this. Lots of it.” The man sidled up next to Philippe, slipping an arm around his waist. “You look like someone’s stolen your best friend.” 

“And you know how to remedy that?” 

Philippe concentrated on the parts of the nobleman’s face he could see. The mask was black, with a long, hooked nose. The flash of hazel green was visible through the eye holes, and the edges of the mask gave way to a firm jawline. His hands moved when he spoke, slender fingers sparkling with jewels. 

“Well, I doubt I can retrieve your best friend, but I can certainly retrieve the night.” 

Philippe took a step back, disentangling himself from the friendly embrace.

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know if I recognize you. Are you new the palace?” 

“I arrived a few weeks ago. I had been abroad for some time, but my father has lived here a long while.” 

“Your father?” 

“Henri of Lorraine. Do you know him?”

“Of course. The Grand Squire.” Philippe replied, intrigued. 

“I am his son. The Chevalier de Lorraine.” The man said, offering Philippe a proper bow in introduction. As he dipped his head, he offered his hand. “A dance, if I may, mademoiselle?” 

Philippe gazed at the proffered hand for mere seconds before accepting. The Chevalier's easy language had a hint of danger to it, and a promise of adventure. Perhaps the night could be retrieved. 

The Chevalier led Philippe onto the dance floor just as the orchestra took up a new melody. This tune was a faster paced, and called for a bit of clever footwork. They stumbled through the first few steps before Philippe could no longer hold back his laughter. 

“You call that a dance?” 

“I admit, I was hoping for more of a waltz.”  Chevalier replied, chuckling. 

“And you call yourself a nobleman?” 

“And you? You’re not much better. May I ask what your title is?” 

“A lowly Duchess, sir.” 

“Lowly?” Chevalier echoed, looping his arm tighter around Philippe waist. “Not with such a beautiful face, my dear.” 

“How can you see it? With the mask and all? Perhaps I am quite ugly underneath.” 

“Relieve yourself of the notion, Duchess. I know it to be a lie.” 

“How do you know?” 

They spun through the next step in the dance, and Philippe, lost in the moment, took a misstep directly onto Chevalier’s foot with his heel. 

“Oww! God in heaven!” Chevalier yelped, taking a stumbling step backwards. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” Philippe rushed forward to catch him by the arm. 

The other dancers were staring even as they continued dancing with ease. 

“Perhaps a dance wasn’t the best idea.” Philippe said as Chevalier caught his balance. 

“Quite right. A drink, instead?” 

“Yes.” 

They weaved their way past twirling dancers until they found their way back to the tables. The Chevalier poured out two glasses of wine, and offered one to Philippe. 

“A toast, then?” He suggested. “To an … exhilarating night.” 

“Mm.” Philippe murmured his agreement. 

They touched glasses, and drank. Philippe peered over the rim of his glass as the Chevalier lifted the protruding nose of his mask to drink. He had nice full lips, and a thin mustache, but still, Philippe did not recognize him. He must have been gone from the palace for some time. Philippe made it his job to remember every interesting noble that passed through these doors. It was his only diversion in life, as his mother and brother and the royal council had made it their mission to strip him of every possibility of life beyond these walls. They wanted him helpless, so as not to ever present a serious threat to Louis’ royal destiny. He had to admit, it wasn’t the worst life one could ever lead. 

“Well, we’ve made our appearance.” Chevalier said, glancing around the party. “Perhaps it might please the lady to find a more private space. We could play some cards, or …” 

“Are you trying to get me alone?” Philippe asked.

“What? No.” The Chevalier said, tossing his blond curls over his shoulder, and feigning innocence. “It only seems that you’re not enjoying yourself at this party.” 

“Are you a roguish man?” Philippe asked, lowering his voice. He pressed his fingertips to Chevalier’s chest, and walked them slowly up over his shoulder. “Ready to take advantage of me once we’re behind closed doors?” 

Hazel eyes pressed alert and sharp from behind the mask. Philippe heard him draw in a husky breath. 

“If that’s what mademoiselle would like.” 

“Hmm.” Philippe muttered, allowing his gaze to linger. 

He turned suddenly, grasping the Chevalier by his wrist. He led them through the crowd toward the exit at the back of the ball room. As they made their way past the table reserved for royalty, Philippe saw Louis at its center, with an empty chair beside meant for him. Louis’ gaze followed him, eyes narrowed, mouth pursed in a line of irritation. He wasn’t angry that Philippe was leaving with a man, only that he was leaving the party. 

Philippe asserted his gaze on the door ahead, and its promise of freedom from this stifling ball. 

They burst out into the hall, where the solitude and the stone walls magnified even the slightest noise. The door fell shut behind them with a thud that echoed up and down the vacant chamber like a drumroll. 

The Chevalier caught him by the waist, and turned him around, pressing him up against the cool, white stone. Philippe’s ribs rebelled against the stitching of the corset as his breath raged hot through him. Chevalier’s body was taut against him, securing his place against the wall while his hands roamed over Philippe’s body. 

As his hands reached Philippe’s face, their frantic motions eased. He reached up slowly to grasp the nose of the mask, and pull it back from his face. The mask clattered to the ground, the sound reverberating against tile. 

Philippe’s breath caught in the back of his throat as the Chevalier’s face was revealed. 

_ God, he’s beautiful.  _  The thought raced across his mind. He suddenly  _ did  _ feel lost. Out of his depth. God knew he had seduced his share of men, but he’d always had his paternity to partially thank for his success. Who said no to royalty? 

But this man was so confident in himself, in his ability to woo, it was as if he had been put on this earth to do it. And God had given him the face of an angel. 

“May I kiss you, mademoiselle?” 

Philippe focused on the plush shape of his lips as they moved through the whispered request.  He could already imagine what else those lips could do. 

He pressed his eyes shut for a moment before reaching up to remove his own mask. 

“I think we both know I am no mademoiselle.” He said, letting the mask fall to the floor. He glanced away, waiting for the horror, the anger, the ridicule.

Instead, the Chevalier began to chuckle. 

Philippe’s gaze swung up to meet the amusement as heat rushed like fire to his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry.” Chevalier said, suppressing his laughter. “You thought you had me fooled? You thought I actually believed this charade?” 

“Yes, I mean - …” Philippe’s words died as he realized what had happened. 

“Forgive me, your Highness.” Chevalier said, dipping his head. “I only played along so that you would come with me.” 

“Wait … wait, you planned this?” 

“Truth be told, I’ve had my eye on you since I returned to the palace.” The Chevalier said, taking a step back to look Philippe up and down. “I’d heard of your penchant for … dress up, but my God, to see it in the flesh …” 

“Are you mocking me?” Philippe demanded, his heart seizing his chest. “Remember who you are talking to.” 

“No, no.” Chevalier insisted, taking one of Philippe’s clenched fists in his hands. “Quite the opposite.” 

Philippe frowned as Chevalier brought his hand to his mouth. His lips traced Philippe’s knuckles until they gradually relaxed, allowing his fingers to slide down across Philippe’s palm. 

“No.” He repeated, his breath spilling hot across Philippe’s wrist. “No, you are quite radiant, mignonette.” 

“Don’t lie to me.” Philippe whispered, his teeth clenching against the urge to simply fall into the compliments. Louis was right when he said their mother tolerated his behavior, as did the rest of the court. No one found his appearance tonight radiant, much less worthy of fucking. 

“I wouldn’t.” 

“You won’t like what will happen to you if you are.” 

“I think I’d like anything you could do to me.” 

Philippe’s breath took leave of his chest as the Chevalier pressed him against the wall once more, and kissed him so firmly that the back of his head landed against the stone. The pain lasted for a second before it was eclipsed by the hot, eager burst of desire the exploded low in his belly. The kiss was warm and bracing, the Chevalier’s lips taking his with eager skill and desire. His tongue slipped past Philippe’s lips with little hesitation, little thought for decency or their current location. 

Philippe was too weak to protest as Chevalier clutched his jaw, and plied his mouth open wider for the exploration of his tongue. His hands were busy coursing down Philippe’s waist and hips, finding the swell of his backside through layers of skirts. Philippe gasped aloud as Chevalier’s mouth departed from his, and found its way down to the tender skin below his jaw. 

Philippe tilted his head back to expose his throat, and gripped Chevalier’s shoulders for support. His knees felt like jelly, everything above them hot and throbbing with powerful need. The fabric of the dress sheathed his erection, giving him a dull ache that demanded freedom and warm, practiced hands. 

As Chevalier lifted his head, Philippe clutched his jaw to hold his mouth at bay. 

“We shouldn’t stay here.” He whispered. 

A pleased smile curled Chevalier’s mouth. “Where to?” 

“My rooms.” Philippe murmured, tracing the delicious line of Chevalier’s jaw. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Chevalier drew in a shaky breath. “You mustn't say it twice.”  He leaned back, allowing Philippe away from the wall. “Lead the way, mademoiselle.” 

Philippe couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth. Grabbing Chevalier’s hand, he marched down the hall in the direction of his rooms. They turned a corner that led them back into the foyer where the two guards were standing on duty outside the ballroom. The one that had spoken to Philippe earlier stared in shock as Philippe, deprived of his mask, blatantly led the Chevalier de Lorraine towards his chambers. 

They darted up the stairs, their shoe heels ringing out against the marbled floors. When they reached the top, the sound was still echoing through the palace. Chevalier caught him by the arm, and pulled him around into a kiss. 

Philippe indulged for a moment before pulling back. “Come on. Hurry.” 

“Forgive me. I’m simply overcome by you.” Chevalier whispered, his gaze clinging to Philippe’s mouth. 

“Come on.” Philippe urged. 

He led them down the hall to his rooms where he flung the door open, and pulled Chevalier inside. The air still smelled of flowers from the bath he’d drawn a few hours before. He’d put all the candles out before leaving, and with dusk approaching, the room was bathed in the golden light and long shadows of impending evening. 

Chevalier’s blonde curls glowed in the light below the window. His eyes were quite green in this light, pulsing like a cat’s, ready to strike. 

Philippe leaned against the door, hearing the latch click shut. He breathed in shallow rasps as Chevalier approached, his steps slow, yet precise. 

“I want something dangerous.” Philippe whispered. 

“Dangerous?” Chevalier echoed. “You’re in your room alone, with a mere stranger. You’re a man wearing a dress. What could be more dangerous?” 

“I dress as a woman quite often.” Philippe replied. “It’s hardly dangerous.” 

“And what of the stranger?” 

“I’m of the mind that he’s simply beguiled, and means no harm.” 

“Quite right.” Chevalier allowed, catching Philippe’s fingers in his own. He lifted them to his mouth, kissing each one. 

“But is he what I guessed?” Philippe asked, allowing himself to be pulled away from the door. “A roguish man?” 

“I can be whatever you wish, darling.” 

“Then you are here to take advantage of me?” 

Chevalier pulled Philippe to him abruptly, wrapping his arm tightly around Philippe’s waist. Philippe clutched at his chest, steadying himself despite the salaciousness of his words. 

Chevalier’s fingers traveled across his shoulder, and up his neck until they reached his nape. His fingers delved into Philippe’s hair as he pressed a kiss to his mouth. Philippe succumbed willingly to the decisive press of Chevalier’s mouth. Blood rushed hot to his lips as Chevalier’s passion quickly turned the flesh plump and raw. 

He moaned as Chevalier pulled him toward the chaise positioned below the window, and pushed him down against the cushions. Philippe’s head fell back against the pillow as Chevalier pressed between his legs. The silky hem of the dress slipped freely from around his ankles to meet his knees. Below, his cock was tented against a pair of thin, white pantaloons. 

Chevalier’s mouth continued to rob him of his senses while his hand delved beneath the dress  to pull loose the stays of the underpants. The fabric slipped from Philippe’s waist, and he lifted his hips to allow them to be divested from his legs. 

Chevalier leaned back as the pantaloons cleared Philippe’s ankles. One hand looped around Philippe’s calf, holding it steadily against his hip. 

Philippe met his gaze, biting at his lower lip. The throb of his cock distracted him from all else, save for the hunger in Chevalier’s gaze. 

“Something dangerous, you said?” He murmured. 

Philippe’s heart skipped, leaving him light headed, and delirious with need. “Yes.” 

Chevalier’s palm slid down to his calf to grasp his ankle. Taking a step back, he turned Philippe onto his stomach with tug on his ankle. Philippe’s face plunged into the plush seat of the chaise, giving him little chance to recover from this new development before Chevalier gathered the hem of the dress and tossed it up over his back. He was left naked from the waist down, his cock trapped against the soft fabric of the cushion. 

Philippe’s heart began to pound as he turned his gaze over his shoulder. 

“What will you do to me?” He asked, each word faltering from his mouth in a raspy whisper. 

Chevalier took a step closer, then lifted one leg to tug his shoe off. It was a black, leather shoe with a simple bow and a two inch heel. But, in that moment, Philippe was possessed of the notion that it was not just a simple shoe. 

“I never met a little lady who didn’t need correction.” Chevalier murmured, planting his knee on the cushion between Philippe’s thighs. “Who didn’t need a little … discipline in her life.” 

Philippe’s mouth slipped open, but no response came. Only the singular thudding of his heart in his ears. There was a brief delay between the insinuation and the realization, and yet another between the realization and the response. And when Philippe finally got around to understanding what he meant and how he felt about it, Chevalier had already wielded the shoe behind his shoulder and down again so that the flat portion of the sole struck him cleanly across his left ass cheek. 

Philippe yelped, and his hips bucked into the cushion with an involuntary spasm of pain and pleasure. His eyes sprung open, as if to right himself. But there was no recovery, no reclamation of his dignity and power. Chevalier planted a hand in the center of his back, pinning him helplessly to the chaise as he raised the shoe against. The sole struck him again, sending a bolt of tingling pain across his skin. 

Gasping, Philippe clutched onto the edges of the cushion. Had any other liaison tried such a thing, he would have thrown them from this room by their ear, but this was different somehow. He had asked for dangerous, and for once, someone had lived up to his expectations - no, exceeded them. Instead of revolting in anger, he was bracing for the next blow, anticipating it as he would an eager mouth sucking his cock. 

Chevalier struck with the shoe again, producing a fleshy crack on contact. 

Philippe moaned aloud, pressing his forehead into the cushion. His eyes stung with a hazy mix of tears and exhilaration. His backside was burning, but it was as if the first three had been nothing more than an aperitif, and the real course was about to begin. 

“Does that feel dangerous enough, Highness?” Chevalier whispered, rubbing his palm across Philippe’s stinging flesh. 

“Yes…” Philippe whispered, his voice a throaty whimper. “Please … continue.” 

Chevalier didn’t hesitate before swinging with the shoe once more. As Philippe moaned through the aftershock of pain, he was thoroughly pleased to realize that Chevalier had not been lying when he’d said Philippe needn’t give him a command twice. He was ready and willing, and not at all intimidated by Philippe’s royal status. 

A hand soothed his smarting flesh before departing to let the shoe do its dirty, but oh so pleasurable work. Philippe lurched his hips into the cushion, and moans chased their way up his throat, driven by the sting of shoe leather and by the need pounding mercilessly through his cock. 

Chevalier brought the shoe down again, this time with greater force that had Philippe biting into the pillow to silence the cry that bloomed in chest. His eyes stung as he suffocated his whimpers, and Chevalier offered little in the way of mercy. The shoe came down again, and again, the repetitious smack like some hot, delirious rhythm playing a tune in Philippe’s head. He clung to the cushions, raising his hips between every strike, presenting himself willing and unbroken. 

At last, after Philippe had lost count of the strikes, Chevalier stopped. 

Philippe could hear him panting quietly. 

“Shall I go on?” He whispered. 

Philippe opened his eyes. The dying sun had sunken into darkness, leaving the room in shadow. He looked over his shoulder to glimpse Chevalier bright, hazel eyes despite the darkness. 

“What?” He whispered. 

“You can stop me whenever you like.” Chevalier said. He leaned over Philippe’s limp body to press a kiss against his cheek. “You  _ are  _ the king’s brother, after all.” 

“Don’t remind me of that.” 

“Then  _ you _ are my king.” Chevalier murmured, nuzzling beneath Philippe’s ear. “Command me, Majesty.” 

“Yes ..” Philippe said, clearing his throat. “I, uh, think I’ve been disciplined thoroughly enough …” 

“And?” Chevalier pressed, pressing his hips against Philippe’s bare backside. 

His cock was heavy against his trousers, thrusting lazily against cleft of Philippe’s ass. The graze of fabric against Philippe’s raw skin stirred fresh need inside him. 

“Now, you can fuck me.” 

Chevalier moaned quietly in Philippe’s ear. He continued rutting against Philippe’s ass while he reached into the pocket of his coat to pull out a vial of oil. His other hand slipped between them to unbutton his trousers. As the fabric slipped away, Philippe felt the taut, hardened flesh of his cock slide against him. 

“Yes.” Philippe groaned, arching his hips back against the contact. “God … hurry.” 

Chevalier leaned back to apply some of the oil to his cock. As he massaged himself, he slipped an oiled finger into Philippe, garnering a high-pitched moan. Philippe cast a harried gaze over his shoulder to watch as Chevalier pumped his finger in and out of his hole. 

Chevalier met his gaze with hooded eyes. His tongue darted across his lower lip, and his teeth ducked against the plump swell of his mouth. 

“God, you are beautiful.” He murmured. 

Philippe glanced away, his face growing hot. Beautiful. He was the king’s brother. He was wearing a dress. He’d just been been spanked for the first time in his life by a mere stranger. Beautiful wasn’t the word he had in mind. 

“Come on.” He rasped. “Hurry up, and fuck me.” 

Chevalier’s finger slipped out of him, and was quickly replaced by the blunt push of his cockhead.

Philippe closed his eyes, and let out a breath, relaxing himself for the initial penetration. He gripped the cushion as Chevalier thrust into him slowly, letting Philippe’s body adjust and take him inch by inch. 

“God … yes.” Philippe hissed, his back arching sharply as Chevalier’s cock filled him entirely. “Oh, that’s good.” 

Chevalier muttered a response, but Philippe was too lost in the grip of pleasure to parse what it might have been. His eyes rolled back, and the hum of pleasure overtook his head as Chevalier began to thrust into him, each one coming slow and deep. 

With the slick aid of the oil and his own rapture, Philippe was soon taking him ease, their bodies rocking back and forth in dance of consuming pleasure. Chevalier’s hands grasped his hips, guiding the rhythm from deliberate thrusting to hungry rutting. His moans overlapped Philippe’s as he pushed himself toward the breaking point, fucking Philippe so hard he could feel the reverberation through every inch of his body. 

Philippe’s gasps came with every thrust, and climbed in pitch and volume until he was nearly shouting with every powerful blow of Chevalier’s hips. He reached down to grasp his cock  as he felt the pleasure begin to overflow, bubbling to the surface with seething hot, unstoppable need. 

“Yes, yes …” Chevalier chanted in a raspy groan as Philippe’s hand disappeared beneath the abundant layers of his skirts. 

Philippe’s cock jumped at the bare brush of his palm. He clamped his hand around the throbbing flesh, gasping as the pleasure increased tenfold by this simple act. 

“Don’t stop.” He moaned, “I’m almost there.” 

Keeping a firm hand on Philippe’s hip, Chevalier reached up with his other hand to twist his fingers into Philippe’s hair. He lifted Philippe’s head from the cushions, guiding him onto his hands and knees as his hips pounded away at Philippe’s ass.

“Yes.” He panted, “Show me.” 

Philippe pumped his hand over his cock, and within a few strokes, he felt the pleasure coming roaring from deep inside him to the surface. His hand shook as the spasms took hold, growing and seizing him deep throughout his chest and belly, until the orgasm came stampeding at him. He threw his head back into Chevalier’s grip on his hair, crying out in pleasure as cum flung from his cock in glistening, white ribbons to stain the expensive upholstery of the chaise. He paid little mind to the mess as the pleasure had its way with him, spasms working through way through him again and again. 

Just as the pleasure began to fade away, Philippe felt Chevalier’s hips hasten into that sloppy, frantic rhythm that indicates the end is near. Philippe’s body still spasmed tenderly with the faint remnants of orgasm as Chevalier’s hips hammered his own pleasure to completion. Philippe felt the hot burst of release inside him, and the weight of Chevalier collapsing against his back in the throes of pleasure. He closed his eyes, letting the sensations of this moment overpower him with a sense of completion, almost joy. 

When they both stopped moving, Philippe sank down against the cushions. Chevalier remained on top of him, but he didn’t wish for him to move. He wanted to stay here a bit longer, in this tiny bubble of contentment that had sprung up so unexpectedly. 

Chevalier kissed the back of his neck, chuckling softly. “You derive me of my sense, mignonette.” 

“Is that what drove you to strike a member of the royal family?” Philippe murmured, pressing levity into his tone despite his own disbelief that he’d let it happen. 

“Will I be dragged away and imprisoned come morning?” Chevalier asked, sounding cavalier despite the gravity of the suggestion. 

“No.” Philippe said. “I allowed it. Willingly.” 

Chevalier fell silent as Philippe rolled onto his back to gaze up at him. The mischievous light had fled from his eyes, replaced by curious observation. His fingers toyed with a loose strand of Philippe's hair as they gazed on one another. 

“I’ve never fucked someone dressed like this.” Philippe admitted. 

“Neither have I, darling.” 

“You said you’d heard of it … of my penchant.” Philippe said. “When they gossip about it, they’re not kind, are they?” 

Chevalier’s fingers paused from stroking his hair. “No gossip is ever kind.” 

“They laugh at me.” Philippe said, “My mother only allows it because she thinks my unusual diversions will distract me from being any threat to Louis. But it’s the only time I feel … free.” 

“Free?” 

“From this.” Philippe said, motioning to the room. “My life. From everything.” 

“Then let them laugh.” Chevalier said. 

Philippe’s brow furled as Chevalier leaped up from the chaise. 

“I think you should wear whatever you like, mignonette, and if they don’t like it, there’s not much they can really do about it is there? And besides, you can always have me, standing here telling you look absolutely ravishing in that dress.” 

Philippe propped himself up on his elbow. “What do you mean, I can  _ always  _ have you?” 

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m back here at the palace for good. I’m all yours.” Chevalier said, crouching down to grasp Philippe’s hands. “I went to that party tonight with every intention of installing myself as Monsieur’s principal favorite. And haven’t I succeeded?” 

Philippe let out a chuckle at Chevalier’s audacity. 

“You have no shame.” He said. 

“None at all, dear.” 

He jumped back to his feet, and backed towards the bed. “Now … I think if someone is to be the favorite, its mandatory that they first share your bed.” 

Philippe gazed across the room at him, both baffled and delighted. 

“Well, are you inviting me to stay or not?” Chevalier asked, posing a coy smile on his mouth. 

“Yes.” Philippe said, rising from the chaise. The rumpled hem of the dress sank back down around his ankles as he strode across the room. 

Chevalier caught him around the waist as he approached, and swept him into arduous kiss. They stumbled to the bed with their mouths locked together, and fell to the sheets in a tangle of limbs and satin skirts. 

Philippe had forgotten that it was the King’s birthday. 

 

~the end~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)
> 
> You can also find me on [Tumblr!](https://duc-orleans.tumblr.com//)!


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